I'll Fly Away
by joeanne
Summary: slighly angsty "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" piece about Delmar's decision to rob the Piggly Wiggly.


I'll Fly Away I'll Fly Away   
by joeanne, joeanne_b@hotmail.com 

_O Brother, Where Art Thou?_ and it's situations and characters are owned by Universal and the Coen Brothers. _I'll Fly Away_ is a hymn, thus public domain, but the singers are Alison Kraus and Gilligan Welch. 

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_I'll fly away, Oh Glory_   
_I'll fly away; (in the morning)_   
_When I die, Hallelujah, by and by,_   
_I'll fly away (I'll fly away).___

_When the shadows of this life have gone,_   
_I'll fly away;_   
_Like a bird from prison bars has flown,_   
_I'll fly away (I'll fly away)_   
__

It was hot. almost supernaturally hot. Trees bowed under the oppressive sun as green leaves struggled defiantly to live. Everything was dulled under the heat, even the clear blue sky was completely lackluster. Everything was coated with a fine layer of dust. Movement only disturbed the dust for a few moments before it would settle down exactly as before. 

Outside of the Piggly Wiggly was an old car that was just as dusty as the road it sat on. It had been there for over ten minutes, allowing the air to stagnate inside. A young man just barely out of boyhood sat behind the wheel cradling a shotgun. An old gray hat that was just a little too large covered his head. His dull blue eyes stared at the Piggly Wiggly's front door. His expression was blank; he was thinking hard and it was difficult. 

Delmar O'Donnel knew that this wasn't a bright idea. Unfortunately, he was incapable of coming up with anything better. The way Delmar figured it, five steps would due the trick. Five steps and he would be inside. Five steps and his money problems would be over. Of course, those same five steps could also land him hard time on the penal farm, but that was a risk he was willing to take. He did not have any other options. 

Delmar drew his eyebrows together and nodded. This was it. He turned in his seat and kicked the door open. The old door flew open with a harsh bang and Delmar stepped out onto the road. Five steps later and he was inside the Piggly Wiggly. "Alright now," Delmar said, aiming the shotgun, "this here is a holdup. I's don't want no trouble, just your money." 

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The light came in harsh and bright on the dried corn fields surrounding the O'Donnel farm. It had been two years since the drought had struck the family farm and only one year since Ma had fallen ill and died. Pa's back bent under the strain of trying to cultivate the stubborn soil and keep his two remaining sons in line. His eldest, Hal, had his own family to take care of and couldn't be bothered with helping his old man. 

Pa stood up from his low crouch and gazed at the two young men sitting on his porch. His middle son held a whittling knife in one hand and a stick in the other. Lawrence spat black juice from the right side of his mouth, hitting the front porch. Pa's eyes narrowed. Ma would have thrown a fit if she had been alive. Lawrence was surly; always was, always would be. He only cared about money and was fond of winning it in games of chance. As with most gamblers, however, he more often lost it. 

The youngest son sat next to Lawrence. One hand clutched an old hat and the other lay in his lap as he eagerly waited for the day's work to begin. Delmar had just recently reached manhood but his eyes still shone with the innocence of the youngest of children. The hat he held had been his birthday present and a symbol of his passage into the adult world. It was bought second hand but Delmar didn't care, he never cared about things like that. 

"Looks like this year'll be as bad as the last," Pa announced. The death of his wife had added over a decade to his already careworn face. His skin was sunkissed with long hours toiling under the hot Mississippi sun and his hands were rough with calluses. Those hands had only been raised once in anger against his children, and they had never forgotten it. 

"Ain't it always," Lawrence growled, his longish hair clung in sweaty clumps to his scalp. 

"Not always, Lawrence," Delmar admonished, "We got those nice apples from Mr. Freeman last Christmas." 

Lawrence snorted, "Yeah, charity from a Negro." 

"Watch your mouth, boy," Pa warned. "He may be a Negro but he's a damn fine man and a hard worker. He has it even worse than we do on account of his color." 

Sensing an argument about to happen Delmar stepped in, "Pa, why do you think it's gonna be a bad year?" 

"The ground don't hold the way it used to, Delmar," Pa explained. He turned away from his boys and stared at the yellowed rows, "It doesn't hold a'tall." 

Delmar sighed at his father's proclamation of doom. The land was his home and the one thing he truly valued. Delmar believed with all his heart that a man's worth lay in his land and how he cared for it. He knew that the farm's disintegration was out of their hands but he still felt a keen loss with every bad harvest. He perched his hat on his head and grabbed the bag of seed they had collected the year before. The family couldn't afford new seed and had to pick up what they could after the harvests. 

Lawrence clamped a strong hand around Delmar's skinny wrist. "Come on, boy why try and fight? The land's dying and ain't nothing gonna grow no more," the older son insisted. 

"As long as we have it we gotta fight for it," Delmar insisted. 

"Delmar, is you too stupid to see facts is facts?" Lawrence said. Delmar flushed, he knew that he wasn't as smart as most other people but he still didn't like that being thrown in his face. 

"If all you want to do is act surly you go ahead, Lawrence. Delmar and I can manage without your lazy ass," Pa said sharply. Lawrence just raised an eyebrow. 

"Fine you dumb sonsofbitches," Lawrence released Delmar's wrist. "Go ahead, I ain't stoppin' yeah." Before things could escalate, they heard an unusual sound. The men turned and were surprised to see a car heading towards them on the dirt track. The car stopped a few yards away from the house and two men scurried out from its interior. 

One of them clutched a briefcase and the other man held nothing but his great girth. The suited men strolled towards the startled farmers with false smiles. "Mr. George O'Donnel?" the fat man asked, his blue eyes twinkling from within the folds of fat on his face. 

"Yes," Pa answered warily. 

"I'm Jeffrey Shannon and this is my associate Mr. Bartholomew Ramsuer," the fat man said, offering a meaty paw. Pa took the hand and found it quickly engulfed in soft, sweaty flesh. "We represent the Indianola Savings and Loan, an association you should remember," Mr. Shannon said with a tinge of sarcasm. 

"I know who you are," Pa said. 

"Yes, well as you know in these fine and gay Twenties things can just slip our minds--" Mr. Shannon began. 

"What'd you want Mr. Shannon?" Pa asked sharply. 

"To the point my friend, to the point. Mr. O'Donnel you are six months behind on your loan payments for this farm. I'm afraid that if you do not produce the money soon we will have to foreclose on your farm," Mr. Shannon said. 

"Foreclose?" Delmar blurted out. "Pa, what's going on?" 

"It's none of your business, Delmar," Pa said. He turned back to the bank men. "You know we don't have that kind of money," he said softly. 

"Then I'm afraid that I'm going to have to foreclose," Mr. Shannon replied. He snapped his fingers and the diminutive Mr. Ramsuer pulled out a notice from the briefcase. He handed it to the dumbfounded Pa. 

The farmer stared at the notice and then raised his eyes to meet Mr. Shannon's. The silence was nearly overwhelming. Lawrence chewed his tobacco thoughtfully as Delmar stared at the confrontation. Several minutes passed before Mr. Shannon finally turned away. "Well, it's been nice meeting with you boys," Mr. Shannon   
called over his shoulder distractedly. Mr. Ramsuer quietly scurried into the driver's side. Mr. Shannon's hand was on the door before Delmar finally found the courage to speak. 

"How can you do that, Mr. Shannon? You can't just come in here and take a man's land away, it ain't right," Delmar protested. 

"Delmar," Pa admonished softly. 

"We worked for this land and we sweated for it and some fancy bank man can come take it away in a day?" Delmar said, heat rising in his cheeks. Mr. Shannon just shook his head as the car pulled away. "You can't do this!" Delmar cried, following the car. "It ain't right! It just ain't right! You pay for this someday, Mr. Shannon!" 

"Shut up, Delmar!" Lawrence yelled. "There ain't nothing you can do so just sit and shut up!" 

"It just ain't right," Delmar whined. He could feel tears threatening to fall, but he didn't care. "It ain't right," he murmured. Delmar looked at his father and the sight broke his heart. Here was a man once tall and proud, now haggard and weary. The fight had simply left him. 

The next morning, Delmar woke to find the cot next to his empty. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and blinked warily. "Lawrence?" he called out softly. There was no answer. Delmar threw his sheet back and stumbled over to the cot. It barely looked slept in. Delmar looked underneath the cot and saw nothing. Lawrence had taken all of his things, including his chewing tobacco, and run off. Delmar sat straight up. "Lawrence!" he called out loudly. "Lawrence," Delmar repeated, scrambling to his feet. He knew that Lawrence was gone but that didn't stop him from searching for his older brother. 

Delmar dashed outside, but stopped short at the porch. Pa was out in the corn field, pushing the plow through the hard earth. His brow was damp with sweat and his muscles strained with tension. "Pa?" Delmar mouthed softly. Pa relaxed for a moment, then pushed again with all his might. The plow moved forward a few scant inches before Delmar heard an audible crack. Pa collapsed against the plow, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he panted harshly. 

"Pa!" Delmar cried and ran to the stricken man. Years of farm work had damaged Pa's back but this last bit of foolishness completely threw it out. Delmar threw his father's arms around his neck and dragged him into the house. "You gonna be okay, you gonna be okay," Delmar soothed as he laid his screaming father onto his bed. 

"God damnit, Delmar! God damn it!" Pa screamed. 

"I'll get a doctor, Pa." 

Pa stretched a hand out and gripped Delmar's arm with an iron fist. "We can't afford to keep the farm we sure as hell can't afford no doctor," Pa spat. "Don't argue with me, boy. We gonna sit here and wait it out. Call Lawrence, I got to tell him something." 

There was an awkward silence as Delmar struggled to speak. "Pa," Delmar paused, "Lawrence is gone." Pa's hand went slack and he let it fall to the bed. He bowed his head forward, deep in thought. Delmar chewed his lower lip, uncertain what to do. 

He heard a soft sound, and realized his father was crying. Delmar felt an ache in his chest and he had to escape the room. He ran outside to breathe in some fresh air to think. It was falling apart, all of it. Nothing would be left of the O'Donnels soon if something wasn't done. Delmar sat down heavily on the porch and thought. 

The sun moved far to the west before Delmar found the courage to go back into the house. Pa was asleep now, the pain had been too much for him. Delmar had always admired his father's strength and his love for the land. Little of that man could be seen in the broken husk on the cot. There were large dark circles under his sunken eyes and the lines of age were never more evident than at that moment. 

All of their problems stemmed from money, specifically the lack thereof. If Delmar could somehow make enough money to keep the farm, everything would be fine. 

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"Alright now, this here is a holdup. I's don't want no trouble, just your money," Delmar announced. There were only two people in the store today, other than the clerk behind the counter. A young woman had her hands in the air, holding up ears of corn. An older gentlemen stood near her, but his arms were so arthritic, he could only raise them up to his shoulders. 

"Do you want what's in my purse?" the young woman asked, nervously. 

Delmar shook his head, "Oh, no m'am, just want what's in the register there." He pointed the gun at the clerk, "If you would do the service." 

"I have to go in back to get the key," the clerk explained, pointing to the back room. 

Delmar lowered the gun, "Oh, that's all right. I can just wait out here." 

"Thank you," the clerk said and ducked into the back room. 

"Well isn't he a nice feller? Normally I would not be participatin' in activities outside of the law, but I don't have any choice. As long as everyone remains calm we'll be all right," Delmar announced, a smile on his face. He was pleased that this was going so well. He had worried that the clerk would put up more of a fight but this was a piece of cake! The two customers nodded and kept their hands in the air. 

Ten minutes passed and the clerk hadn't reappeared. Delmar frowned in puzzlement. He turned to the others in the store, "He sure is takin' a while, ain't he?"   
A loud gunshot from outside was his only answer. 

"Okay, boy. This here is the police! We've got this Piggly Wiggly surrounded. Don't you do nothing stupid. Yeah hear?" a voice called from outside. Delmar nodded, then realized there was no way that the police could see that. "Don't give me the silent treatment!" the policeman bellowed. The cops let out a burst of gunfire and Delmar threw himself on the two customers, shielding them with his body. He felt juice from a nicked can leak through his fingers onto his hat. 

"You idiots gonna git someone killed!" the old man screamed. The gunfire ceased. 

"Are we gonna have to do that again?" the voice called from outside. 

"NO!" Delmar yelled. "Don't fire, there's people in here!" 

"Then come out with your hands above your head," the voice answered. Delmar shakily got to his feet. 

"I'm awful sorry 'bout all this," Delmar said, picking up the shotgun. "I didn't know they was gonna do that." 

"Just get out there you dumb cracker!" the old man yelled. Delmar flinched as he backed out towards the door. He turned around and raised his hands up, the shotgun gripped in his right hand. 

Several police officers swarmed towards him. One took the gun while another yanked his hands behind his back and tied them together. The cop with the shotgun opened the chamber and stared. "This ain't loaded," he said in amazement. 

"What?" the sheriff asked, coming over to look. He examined the gun. "Well I'll be a son of a bitch. What did you think you were doing, boy, with an unloaded shotgun?" he asked Delmar. 

The younger man replied, "I didn't want anyone to get hurt." 

"What if the clerk had had a gun?" the sheriff asked. Delmar's eyes widened, he hadn't thought about that. The sheriff sighed in disgust. "Take this guy away, will you?" The officers holding Delmar dragged the young man into the paddy wagon and slammed the door. 

"Think the judge'll have any sympathy?" the officer holding the shotgun asked. 

"Why, 'cause he's an idiot? I don't know. Might get some time shaved off for the unloaded gun, though. Depends on the judge," the sheriff answered. 

Delmar was blissfully unaware of this conversation as he stared wildly at the sky before being shoved into the paddy wagon. It would be his last glimpse of the Mississippi sky as a free man for thirteen years. 

The End 


End file.
